Night Shift

I don't care about my job. It's some do-nothing document review gig in the dim lit throwaway room of the company building, locked away from any interaction and engagement besides the mountains of paperwork. I'm down there to do the same job as all the other nobodies.

It was a Friday during a particularly frosty December night, and I had just gotten settled... As settled as you could be in a shitty studio apartment, I suppose. I peered over the stove, eyeing the kettle intently, waiting for it to steam...

RING!!! RING!!!

My ringtone shot through the city's ambiance, tearing it open like a bullet through paper. Reluctantly, I whipped the crappy flip phone from my pocket, flipping it open to see who was dialing. It was work.

"Come on..." I muttered, accepting the call. "Hello?" I answered snappily. It was Marshall, our paralegal manager. "Hey," he was quick to answer in his typical throaty tone. "I'm not going to name names, but someone bailed. Manager needs you to pick up their slack."

God, damn it...

I know not to shoot the messenger and all that crap, but it would have been easier to just say, "you're an asshole" and hang up, rather than making some sorry excuse. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. He'd have my ass if I even thought about saying something like that. I'm a bad liar anyway.

"Really?" It pissed me off. It wasn't my problem, why did I need to solve it? "Yes, really. It's your job." I suppose he had a point. It was my job, but it wasn't my work. "God, damn it. Alright. I'll come by. Thanks." Why did I say that? I wasn't thankful.

I shut the phone and slid it back in my pocket, swallowing the urge to pummel whoever stiffed me with their workload. Tiredly, I slipped back into my blouse and blazer - despite knowing nobody would be there to care. I threw my trench coat over my body and tied it tightly around me. The cocoa on the burner began to steam, the high whistle keeping silence an unattainable luxury.

I had planned to have a nice cup or two while I stayed inside and indulged in my novellas, but that was swiftly flipped on its head. I drained the kettle into a thermos, carrying it with me as I turned into the living room, picking my work bag off the couch and slinging it across my shoulders. My eyes looked across the room, disappointed, wishing I was unemployed rather than have to go out again.

Whatever. I slipped on my mittens, moccasins and earmuffs before heading out the door, the container in my grasp. Snow beat down harshly from the blackened sky as I began the trek through the desolate darkness of the December dusk.

The wind thrashed the snow about, whipping vibrant flakes across an empty sky, floating downward upon the quiet streets littered with homes strung in lights. A snowflake landed on the lid of my drink, melting into nothing as quickly as it had been born.

I lifted the cup to my lips, taking a troubled sip as I approached the building looming ominously above me. The cocoa was exuberant and fiery, the warm and sweet nectar pleasantly contrasting to the climate of this less than fair Friday evening.

I tried my luck with the door, and sure enough, it was unlocked. The rusty hinges creaked as it swung open and creaked closed, wailing once more as it sluggishly inched shut. Loud and large fluorescent lights shone on me as I walked inside, flicking on and off at rapid fire, a chime to the dull and permanent hum that swallows up any quiet I could have hoped for.

The front desk was vacant, the swivel chair turned away from the door. I set my drink on the tabletop hurriedly while I unbundled, hanging my coat in the corner and kicking off my snow-coated shoes. Tossing my bag onto the floor, I rummaged around in an attempt to find the high heels I had tucked away. Nice, small black shoes that raised me up a notch.

I turned to the window, greeted by the girl living in the foggy glass. "I look good..." I whispered to myself as I slid into my shoes. I'm charmed by my chest, by my tightly buttoned top barely containing my bust. I shuffled to my destination, the thin and stalky heel making a repeated clack as I stepped.

The thermos was back in my hand, soothing warmth flowing through from the metal. It was right in front of me then, right as I looked up from my cup. Catherine's Crossing, I called it, name given when Catherine broke her nose when she fell nearly a year ago. Poor girl. Every inch of the corridor was plastered in a sickly yellow wallpaper, the odd, lingering stench of the water-stained ceiling forever tethered to the walkway. At the very end of it all, there was the door.

Stood at the very end of the hallway was that rusted metal door, the handle spotted with fingerprints and wither. Wrapping my hand around it always made me feel sad, knowing my shift officially began the moment I entered. Despite it all, I stepped inside. I'm greeted by the same wallpaper and that old wood desk that's wished me good morning for nearly 6 years, stains and smears exactly where they were 4 hours ago. Without turning on the main light I could still read the poster opposite of where I stood.

DO YOUR JOB!

How empowering. I knocked on the door twice before pulling it closed, a ritual that I can't remember creating, only fulfilling. I switched on an old-fashioned lamp near my chair. It did what it needed to, not to mention it spared me from the damned buzz of the bulb. Music would have been nice. It's always too quiet there. Normally I'd have my earbuds to keep me entertained. But it'd be a distraction from my work, I suppose. Even an interestingly shaped ball of lint would have occupied my attention.

The damp feeling of enthusiasm is lost after the first few months, the work boiling down to words and paper, and nothing more. As I mindlessly skimmed over the thousands of words plastered on pages I was meant to be revising, I hardly pay attention to the sounds beyond the door. Footsteps.

Before I knew it the door was nudged open, a familiar figure stepping into view. It's Savannah, my boss. I usually call her Sav. She's a tall woman, boasting a scrappy 6-foot frame in her heels. She has nicely tanned skin with golden blonde hair draping down to her waist, always styled to be a touch rugged.

Her outfit was formally immodest, usually dressed with a snug fitting pencil skirt that accentuated her curves and exposed the straps linking her stockings to a garter belt, barely hidden behind the drape. Paired with it was a button up nearly mirroring my own, the top button left undone to give onlookers a little tease.

She had mastered the vital balance of exposure, revealing enough to evade punishment, as well as scoring points with associates who happened to fall for it. Her looks opened the door and that's often the extent of what people could say about her. She seemed nice outside of the office, according to the lucky ones who got to see her. I wouldn't know.

I looked in her direction and back to the paper, attempting to drive home the facade of actually being productive. It didn't matter anyway. From swift peeks up to her and down to my workload I could tell she was looking at me rather than what I was doing.

Her hand dragged along the wall as she inched closer to me, eventually getting settled in the chair next to me. Finally, she looked over what I had been doing, her eyes lazily glossing over highlighted snippets of texts accompanied with dead yellow post-its.

"Hi." I looked her in the eye.

"Hello," she returned the greeting, drawing the documents closer to her. "On the night shift again, Gwen?" She inquired, absentmindedly sifting through my workload.

Savannah didn't seem to care about what I had written. No notes. No form of reaction. It really didn't matter what I had done, not now, anyway. "Yeah," my teeth clicked as I said it. "Would be more bearable if I had my music." I forced a laugh. How was that funny? She didn't bother coming up with a quip in return, sliding me back my papers. "Just drop these on my desk before you go, okay, sweetie? Good luck." She smiled, flashing a wink before walking off.

Sweetie..?

It rang in my mind. If it were anyone else, I would've had something to say about it, but Savannah? I wasn't sure what to do. She was always generally flirtatious in nature, I suppose, so surely that was all it was. Just a coy nickname. No matter what it was, I couldn't help but feel like she orchestrated me being stuck there that night. That voice of hers had a hint of mischief.

Her hips swayed as she stepped toward the door, her snug fitting skirt all that stood between me and her sultry curves. I shook my head.

I need to stay focused if I want to get out of here anytime soon, I quickly remind myself. Let's get this done.

I crack down, finishing the last splash of hot chocolate in my cup and devoting my full attention to the task at hand, trying my hardest to get it done without my hastiness bleeding into it. It didn't take long, really. Only fifteen minutes passed. Placing everything into a neat stack, I slid the manifold of mother's milk sheets into a thick tangerine envelope, sighing. It's over.

The feeling of getting it over with never got old. Pushing my chair in and heading for the door was a hell of a luxury. Tucking the documents beneath my arm, I was finally allowed to escape, flicking off the lamp before scurrying to the door. I'm not quite sure what I accomplished, but either way it was done, and that's all that mattered.

I pressed the button on the knob to lock the door, taking a puff of the stale air turned sweet with relief. I took a long look up at the ceiling, staring through the flickering UV rod above me, retreating down the corridor and returning to the foyer. It was dead quiet in the lobby, nothing but the wind roaring beyond the glass to remind me there was anything beyond the doors, all else swallowed by the December darkness.

I placed the envelope on the front desk and fetched my coat, rummaging around in the pocket and whipping out a half empty carton of cigarettes along with my lighter. The storm was still howling outside, but who was gonna stop me? I pushed the door open, resting against the wall as I sparked up my smoke. The warm glow of the amber flame consumed my focus, distracting me as the door opened once more.

There was Savannah, nearly appearing out of thin air. She was wearing a proper jacket, unlike me. Probably a smart choice in retrospect. I gave her a nod of acknowledgement and she returned it with a smile, noticing the cigarette dangling from between my lips. "May I have one?" She asked, fingers spread apart. I pulled out another, lighting it up before she nicked it from me. The fierce blizzard consumed the sky, the dead glow of the street lamps only capturing the empty abyss of darkness we were trapped in until daybreak.

She nudged me.

"Did you finish the work?" She asked, stifling her cough, taking another prolonged drag of her cigarette, a controlled stream of smoke immediately shredded by razor sharp winds. I nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave me a thumbs up. It was silent for a moment, the both of us entranced by the gracious ferocity of the storm. "Alright, then," she breathed. "Come with me to my office, I can send those papers off and you and I can have a chat." She said abruptly.

Shit. What'd I do now? Maybe she knew I was staring beforehand. Or maybe Bridget took that joke too seriously...? That's the last time I try to be friendly around here.

"Alright, ma'am." I choked. My worry was snuffed by her calm expression. Her smile was warm, a much-needed offset from the frost. The cigarette fell from her mouth, crushed beneath her foot. "Ma'am?" She tilted her head, snickering. "You don't need to be formal, Gwen. It's just you and me. You can call me Savannah."

She's charming. She doesn't need much, whether it be an undone button or her gentle voice to get you under her spell. I spat the cigarette onto the ground, smothering it beneath my shoe. "If you say so." My boss smiled, holding the door open for me. "I do. I do say so."

I could feel her eyes scan me up and down as I scurried inside and back to the coat rack, my teeth near chattering from the cold. I tucked my lighter and carton back into my coat pocket as Savannah slipped out of her jacket, stepping back to the desk and snatching the parcel, tucking it beneath her arm. Near the right-hand side of the lobby was a large, polished staircase traveling from the lounge to the roof, the outside blocked by a column of high-end glass tinted with fog.

"I'm on the sixth floor." She told me as we made our way to the stairs. I began the trek up, Savannah intentionally lollygagging behind me, taking her sweet time in venturing up the steps.

At the very end of the sixth floor was her office, a rather spacious environment with a lovely spruce desk taking up only about a tenth of the room. The back wall was glass as well, showing the beauty of the Christmas nights I had taken for granted when I was a lass. Near the left was a dark oak shelf sporting various miniature bottles of liquor and tall glasses, both of which were offered to me as soon as I entered.

"Care for a drink?" She slipped in behind me, brushing her hand against my waist before getting behind her desk, tucking the envelope in a drawer. "Sure," I shrugged, taking a seat in one of her chairs. "No harm in it." Without a moment's notice she was out from behind the desk pouring the drink into a rocks glass, stirring it briefly with a straw before impaling a rose petal through the top. Nice touch, Savannah, even if excessive.

Sip...

Good drink. The same dry taste I'd grown so fond of. Sav had poured herself a smaller serving, saying she didn't drink that much despite the bar. I guess she knew I was a bit of a drinker. I'm not all that proud of my reputation proceeding me. She took a small sip, punctuated with the gentle tmp of the cup being set down. I pursed my lips around the straw, draining the cup dry in one fell swoop only to be immediately assaulted with the bitter aftertaste.

The glass was nearly ripped from my hand the moment I finished, Savannah immediately making another for me. "Thank you," I smiled, taking yet another look around. "If you don't mind me asking, why's your office so big? This is like a whole apartment." I snickered. I suppose I was a bit jealous, her apartment being bigger than my own damn home. Savannah giggled before she answered me. "I gave my boss some razzle dazzle about it helping it promote productivity, not being cramped in a box and all... Alongside earning a few favours. Something like that!" She threw her shoulders up and chuckled, tilting her head back as she guzzled all that was in her glass. "Hits the spot, doesn't it?" Savannah licked her lips, lapping up the lingering traces of liquor.

It felt like I'd gotten drunk then and there the way my cheeks burned pink. That gesture made me feel weird. Maybe she was doing it to tease me like she teased everyone else, but I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to see if I could taste the booze on her lips as our tongues wrestled with one another.

I tried my best to shun the thought, but it kept gnawing at me. Sav went off to fix another drink. "May I have more?" I lifted my glass before she got too far. "Of course." Savannah smiled and took both glasses, filling both up with ease and setting them back upon the table. Before I could reach out, her ice-cold hand brushed against my cheek, turning my head to her. It sent a chill down my spine. Our eyes locked, her calm and steady eyes longingly gazing into my own. I was sure she could see the anxiety in my stare.

She enjoyed seeing me like that, I was sure of it. It gave her a kick to see me flustered. "Phew!" she sighed, shimmying out of her blazer and tossing it nonchalantly to the corner. Raising her arms to the air she stretched herself out, a relieved sigh spilling from her lips. "Drinking always gets me all hot." Giggled as she took a slow drink, finished with her typical smile. Savannah's tongue slipped from her mouth, sluggishly glossing along her lips before slithering back inside.

God damn her, she's toying with me. That glint of salaciousness dazzled in her eyes yet again. I wasn't allowed to speak out against her little teases, she had already started talking again. "You know, Gwen, you're fun. I don't usually get to have a drink with my employees." The blonde smirked, finishing her beverage. "I like you. You're not like all the other nobodies here. You have potential." I doubt she was referring to inside the firm, but I appreciated it nevertheless.

My eyes followed her as she stepped back to my side, soon going behind me. Before my head could turn her hands planted down on my shoulders, giving them a gentle massage while my breathing began to accelerate. Was I nervous? Certainly. Opposed? Not at all. Even if I was, I'm sure she could manage to sweet talk her way into changing my mind. But whatever game she was playing with me, she was winning.

I'm sure she could feel my body start to burn with how flushed I was becoming. But she persisted, continually working imaginary knots out of my shoulders to ease me further into whatever state I found myself slipping into. Her arms eventually crossed over my neck, wrists resting beneath my breasts, feeling my chest continually rise and lower with my breathing. "Is everything alright, hunny?" She asked innocently.

She won.

I couldn't be asked to keep pretending like she wasn't driving me crazy with lust. Was it really just my inebriated mind getting mushy all for her? I don't know. But I knew I wanted more of that feeling. "Yes, ma'am." I choked. "I'm glad to hear it." Her soothing voice whispered to me, luscious and lascivious hands gliding effortlessly toward my top button. My boss' voice kept me calm as her hands slipped further down, undoing one and then another, not an ounce of resistance surfacing from me as she worked. Before I knew it my blouse was undone, the disturbed fabric resting on each of my breasts. Sav's fingers grazed along my exposed skin while she circled back in front of me, shifting the shirt off of my mounds.

With a look of content smugness she reached out, both hands cupped around both of my boobs. I wanted them to fit perfectly in her hands more than anything, but it was the fact they didn't that made me so aroused. "Very pretty," she smiled. "Very pretty. Are these natural?" Savannah cooed, swishing my already minimal covering to the side. "Yes, ma'am." I was quick to the draw, nodding to further cement the truth. She nodded back, giving each of my mammaries a proper squeeze to verify.

"Get up," she instructed, hazel eyes kept locked upon my chest. I rose without a word. "Let's just get rid of these, shall we?" Savannah had already eased me up, guiding my arms up above my head like a child as she stripped me. My blouse and blazer were tossed aside casually, soon followed by my skirt, leaving me standing there in my finery with a stupid expression smeared in a rose blush.

"Do you like them?" I asked sheepishly. Savannah scoffed at the question. "Hunny," she placed her hands back upon me, resting on my shoulders and steadily descending to my bra hooks. "I remember when you first joined this company, the first time you poked your head into this office... All I could manage to think about were those breasts, how they were so close to blowing out your top button... Hell, I can't remember why you were in my office in the first place." She giggled, undoing my bra with the swiftness of a locksmith.

Parts of me were embarrassed to be ogled at, yet all the more aroused knowing my boobs were that exciting and enchanting to her. As my bra fell to the floor, I could sense her want, her growing need to give my exposed tits a salacious fondle, but she held back. "Would you like to see mine?" She offered.